All We Have Time For Today
by littlexkiller
Summary: We all know the story of Clara Oswald, the Impossible Girl, master of not mastering souffles. But we never saw the damage. "Never let him see the damage," River Song told us. Here's to the therapist(s) that fixed the girl who couldn't be fixed. Written so the reader can be the therapist.
1. Session Three

**_A/N: In using this song as chapter stimulus for 'The Blacklists', I realised how much of it is scarily relevant to DW. This is written so you are the therapist treating Clara, but it's still in her POV, if that makes sense... Thought it would make for interesting writing. This also assumes everything including and after The Day of The Doctor never happened and Clara just had to leave._**

* * *

_Everybody wants to go to Heaven  
But nobody wants to die.  
I can't fear death no longer,  
I've died a thousand times._

_Why explore the universe_  
_When we don't know ourselves?_  
_There's an emptiness inside our heads_  
_That no one dares to dwell..._

_Throw me to the flames,_  
_Watch me burn!_  
_Set my world ablaze,_  
_Watch me burn!_

_How are we on a scale of one to ten?_  
_Could you tell me what you see?_  
_Do you wanna talk about it?_  
_How does that make you feel?_

_Have you ever took a blade to your wrists?_  
_Have you been skipping meals?_  
_We're gonna try something new today,_  
_How does that make you feel?_

_Hold me close, don't let go,_  
_Watch me (burn)._  
_Hold me close, don't let go,_  
_Watch me (burn)._  
_Hold me close, don't let go,_  
_Watch me (burn)_  
_In this hospital for souls._

_Bring Me The Horizon - Hospital For Souls_

* * *

**Clara**

I need it to stop. I need the pain to stop ripping me apart, I need the Doctor to hold me together, I need...

To wake up.

The breaths leap from my chest like anxious children to the first robot toy at the school I can no longer teach at. You watch me carefully, asking piercing questions with painful answers, cross-examining my behaviour. I want to scream, but in the same way I don't want to make a sound. It seems I've made quite the habit of asking for help and pushing it away. That needs to end.

* * *

_Have you considered that this 'Doctor' of yours was the product of your own imagination?_

Yes, I have. I've strongly considered that. But I'm also old enough to know what I've seen and what I haven't. Honestly, I think I've seen too much.

_Oh that's good, we're talking today. You're quick to make progress, Clara. Usually patients will sit there for at least four sessions before they open up. _

Thanks. Good to know I'm one session ahead of the pack. Truly **brightens up my life.**

_...Did you have a particularly traumatic childhood? _

I already told you that my mother died when I was sixteen, you insensitive numbnut. Sorry, that's not your fault. But otherwise I had a lovely family.

_Do you think your feistiness is a self-defense mechanism to stop yourself from getting hurt? _

It always has been.

_I think you've developed a shell you didn't used to have. You seem to have been a happy child. What happened?_

My mother **died**. Did you get that? God, are you even listening?

_I am hanging on to every last word, I assure you. You're feeling frustrated._

Yes, I sort of am. When did you notice?

_A while ago. This is my profession, Clara._

That's nice.

_And you're a..._

I was a sixth-form teacher at Ashbourne College. You know, the one near Kensington Palace and the Museum of Natural History.

_Fancy, my cousin sent her son there. Sorry, 'was'?_

I quit after everything with... the Doctor.

_They'll miss you, I think_.

What?

_The children. A strong woman like you, I'd miss you too._

That's... very nice of you. Therapist – one, Clara – nil.

_You like to keep score?_

I'm a competitive spirit. So was he, actually.

_I assume you're talking about that Doctor again?_

Not 'that' Doctor. **The **Doctor.

_Okay. Tell me about him again_.

I thought you were taking notes...?

_I am, tell me again_.

Well then, bossy pants. He was a time-travelling madman Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation Kasterborous, and he lived in a big blue box that's bigger on the inside. We fought and killed hundreds of aliens, saving the universe on the way. Is that what you want me to say?

_Clara, I only-_

I loved him, so I jumped into his bloody timeline and killed myself billions of times, just so I could save him and die for him every single time he needed help. And he still left me. Is that what you want me to say?

_Clara..._

Don't. He used to say my name like that.

_How exactly would he say your name?_

With that **awful** apologetic tone of voice you just used. He'd look at you with those big sad eyes, and all you could think about was how to make him look happy again.

_You really were in love with him_.

I daresay I was.

_Do you think you can fall in love again?_

I'm sorry?

_Do you think you can move on after leaving the Doctor?_

What kind of a question is that?

_One you need to think about_.

I suppose I have a week to do just that.

_Indeed you do. That's all we have time for today, Miss Oswald. Thank you for your time._

Thank me for my money. I've got too much time now that he's gone.


	2. Session Four

**_A/N: Counselling session number four. We'll be rotating between therapists to adapt to different therapy styles._**

* * *

_Come in, Clara._

Who are you? What happened to the other therapist?

_Sick day. It happens to the best of us._

They weren't exactly the best.

_Hopefully I can fill those __**awfully**__ big shoes._

I'm sure you can try.

_How have you been since your last session?_

Fine. My neighbour Mrs Greenwood has been ridiculously bitchy about my love for metal music. It's not even that loud, like, I have decent walls you know.

_How are you feeling?_

Yeah, fine. Literally, Mrs Greenwood is just... ugh. I don't want to talk about her.

_I'm asking about your feelings, Clara, not Mrs Greenwood._

I...

_Go on. Think back to how you felt during this week._

I was... I was pretty good, actually. Met a lovely guy in the apartment above me named Craig. His wife makes a killer cocoa.

_And I suppose the cocoa sums up your emotions, does it?_

Hey...! Why the sarcasm?

_It's interesting how __**you're **__saying that to __**me**__._

I quite like you.

_I quite like you too, Clara. Continue._

Leaving the Doctor has started to feel... real. He's actually, properly gone now. Off to see the stars in that awful cow box of his.

_I see. What does the box look like?_

It's blue. The bluest blue you've ever seen. And bigger on the inside, truly spectacular in size. It's infinite – he was always saying that it's infinite. She's quite beautiful, actually. Changes with him.

_You called it an awful cow, but you seem to be quite fond of this TARDIS?_

Despite everything, yes. She would hardly ever take us where the Doctor wanted to go, but always where we needed to.

_Sounds like his mother._

She was very much like his mother.

_...Clara, I think we should address this... elaborate distortion of yours._

Distortion? I have **pictures** of us-

_There are no aliens, my dear. No blue boxes have ever been seen on Earth and you certainly did some serious research on Victorian England. Let's be real, my dear. There is no 'Doctor'. There is only a man with a questionable attachment to you with a loving-but-misunderstood mother and you are the twenty-something who is hopelessly in love with him._

I suppose you're right.

_And jumping into his time stream was your brilliant brain's way of explaining a trauma to itself._

This makes too much sense... Why does it make so much sense? I don't want it to!

_Clara, take some deep breaths-_

NO! I want **my Doctor** to come and take me away!

_If you continue like this, the ambulance will take you away._

There is **nothing **wrong with me! I'm not going to sit here and watch you dissect my life with your awful, logical science...!

_There we are. It does make sense, doesn't it Clara?_

I'm never coming back. Never.

_You will, Clara. They all do._

I'm not bloody everyone, am I? I'm the Impossible Girl! Soufflé Girl! The girl twice dead!

_You are Clara Oswald, a former English teacher who is refusing to get over her more-than-friend in the normal fashion. You have PTSD and you are refusing to cope with it._

Just shut **up**! Stop telling me everything that's wrong with me, just stop-

_Clara, I'm not trying to discourage your spirit. I'm here to disillusion it._

Oh look at the time. Time to go home, back to my empty house and my evident denial. Back to all my pretty **disorders**, hanging like bloody picture frames on the walls of my own creation. Back to just... me.

_Thank you, that's all we have time for t-_

I have all the time in the world, okay?

_Okay, Clara. Have a good week._


	3. Session Six

_**A/N: Session six, and we have a male therapist who we actually like.**_

* * *

Hello.

_You're early._

You're late.

_You actually came. How spontaneous of you._

I'm paying for these sessions, I don't see what the problem is. I had to take an after school class anyway.

_Back to teaching then? That sounds promising._

...You're male. And a bit old.

_Yes, I do happen to be rather male, and more than a bit old. Is that a personal issue?_

Not at all. Nice bowtie, by the way. It looks cool.

_Thanks, my kids think they're positively dreadful, while my wife sort of glares a bit and acts like she doesn't mind. Shall we proceed?_

Feel free to do so.

_Alright. What's it like being back to teaching?_

Bloody brilliant. I've missed being too busy planning lessons to cry.

_Do you cry a lot?_

Probably more than the average hormonal woman, yeah.

_I see. And how are the kids treating you? They are... (you glance down at your notes) about fourteen to fifteen years old? They must be such fun to handle._

Indeed, they can be a pain. Although Angela's a sweetheart. She gets teased for her pale skin - you know how people are about tans these days – but when I went to Asia with the Doctor this one time, all they cared about was staying deathly white. She looks beautiful that way, much better than the pumpkins she has to call classmates. Blimey.

_Blimey indeed. There's such a thing as gradual tanning lotion._

Amen, brother. You seem to really know your aesthetics?

_My wife and oldest daughter are in the makeup and skin care industry. You pick up a thing or two at the dinner table._

It must be boring for you.

_Bone-dry. (You grin at her). But back to you – it sounds like you have a real passion for teaching. You wouldn't really be in that particular field if you weren't._

Took the words straight out of my mouth. Yes, I find it somewhat enjoyable to force kids to listen to my droning voice as I quote Sylvia Plath.

_English teacher?_

English, history, software engineering, physics and mathematics. But I was originally just an English teacher.

_You must be a very intelligent woman. Those are very admirable skills to have, Miss Oswald._

Call me Clara. Anyway, if it weren't for the Doctor, I wouldn't have even tried.

_(You scribble a note down quickly). The Doctor seems to be a large driving force in your life._

He... was.

_Mhmm. Would you feel comfortable discussing his demise?_

Absolutely not. No. Too soon.

_That's okay. I'll never force you into talking about things you don't want to talk about._

I appreciate that. Will you be taking my sessions from now on?

_Well, if you don't discreetly ask for a new one like you did with the ones before me, then... yeah._

How did you know?

_It's on record, sweetie. Most psychs don't bother with checking on their clients' record with the particular clinic, but I do. It's important to see what they think of things, what they want._

Yep, keeping you. You actually care.

_Oh stop. I'm very flattered._

(She giggles lightly).

_Have the previous therapists prescribed any medication to you?_

No. They haven't found anything wrong yet.

_Okay. It's interesting how you say that, darling, because you've been prescribed the strongest atypical neuroleptic available to us._

But... they said it doesn't go on record-

_Of course it goes on record, dear. Why were you so keen to deny your disorder?_

I've been diagnosed...?

_Yes, you have. Mild schizophrenia. I'd say I'm sorry, but you probably don't want to be felt sorry for._

But he's real. The Doctor.

_He's really not, sweetheart. Now, I'd like to ask that you remain calm. You have a bit of history in regards to accusation-induced hysteria-_

I'm not hysterical. Listen to my voice – I'm absolutely fine.

_You will be, just let us help you Clara. Let us help you through this. It's why you're here._

Just... can we not call it that? Can we just talk about things like – I don't know – friends? Could we be friends? Sorry, that sounded so awkward...

_We can absolutely be friends. And we've come to the end of another session. Congratulations Miss – uh, Clara. I hope you're feeling much happier next week._

You too. Thank you.

_Thank you, Clara. That's all we have time for._

(She smiles a bit and leaves).


End file.
